


pas seul

by diaryofageekgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ballet, Canon Compliant, Dancing, Gen, Introspection, Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23303698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diaryofageekgirl/pseuds/diaryofageekgirl
Summary: pas seul: In ballet, a dance performed by one dancer, alone on stage.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	pas seul

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Representation week on tumblr! Go check out everyone else's works [here!](https://representation-week.tumblr.com/)

Stevie sighed heavily, shutting the door to her house behind her, and leaning her full weight against it. She would never regret becoming a hunter, but sometimes it just filled her with a bone-deep exhaustion. Not to mention how weird some cases were; an entire town under a magic barrier to keep a ghost apocalypse out was officially top of the list of weird shit she’d seen. She sighed again, rolling her shoulders and neck, before pushing up off of the door and into her house.

Thankfully, it hadn’t taken her too long to get home after helping the Winchesters with the ghost town. Most hunts, she was either too far from home or got home too late to really unwind, and just ended up collapsing into bed, exhausted and stiff and tense. There were, however, rare occasions that she had the time and energy for her favourite way to work through the aftermath of a hunt. Today was one of those rare occasions.

She made a quick pit-stop at her room, changing out of her jeans and boots, trading them for tights and a leotard and leg warmers. She tossed her weapons duffle on her bed, and grabbed a second duffle – this one black and satiny, with rhinestones and ribbon embellishing it – and hauled it on to her shoulder. Clicking off the lights, she made her way down to the basement.

It had taken a great deal of time and effort to convert the basement into a dance studio, but Stevie was nothing if not determined. Ordering and installing the sprung subfloor, dance floor, mirrors, and barre – she had put her blood, sweat, and tears into this room. The floors and one visible wall were a pale grey, and the wall had a beautiful mural that her brother had painted of various ballet poses. The other three walls were covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and the longest wall had a black wood barre installed on it. A little alcove was set into the corner nearest the door, where she stored her stereo and music, along with various tapes and bandages, in case of emergency.

Stevie flicked the lights on as she entered the room. She dropped her duffle at her feet, and eased the door shut behind her, closing with a soft ‘click’. She lowered herself to the floor, propped up against the wall, and dug her shoes out of her bag.

Growing up, shoes and tights had been an issue. Ballet tradition had dancers wearing tights and shoes that matched their skin tone, to give the illusion that they were dancing barefoot; however, the vast majority of dancers are white, which means that salmon tights and pale pink slippers were the norm. She could usually find brown tights, but slippers any darker than a dusky rose but not just pure black were impossible to find. She would usually have to spend half an hour pancaking makeup onto her slippers to blend them in with her skin, which she would have to reapply for every performance.

Once she stopped taking classes and strictly danced for her own enjoyment, Stevie stopped caring about the color of her slippers. She slipped her feet into her favourite pointe shoes, carefully wrapping and lacing the bright red ribbons around her ankles. Yes, she knew the urban legends surrounding red ballet shoes, but since becoming a hunter, she found herself placing less stock in heresy and fairy tales. Also, cursed ballet slippers? Really?

Stevie stood, flexing her feet, getting used to the feeling of the pointe shoes once again. She turned on some [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uSji5Gamq8Q), then made her way over to the barre. She faced it, swinging her right leg up onto the bar. She stretched, pointing her toes, and arching her arms over on top of her foot, then reset to a more neutral position. She did this a few times, then switched to repeat the stretches with her left leg. As she finished, she brought her leg down and turned so that she was facing the wall, her right hand on the barre.

Stevie let out a low, slow breath, and moved into her usual exercises. 1-2, 3-4, 5-6-7-8; _demi-plié, demi-plié, pli_ _é_ _; demi-plié, demi- plié, pli_ _é_. First in first position, then in second, her arms fluidly moving from preparatory position, to first, then second, then back to preparatory. She moved into her _tendus_ and _d_ _é_ _gag_ _é_ _s_ , practicing both exercises _devant, a la seconde,_ and _derri_ _è_ _re._ After a few repetitions, she turned around, now placing her left hand on the barre, and repeating the same exercises on the other side.

She let her mind drift as she ran through her barre exercises. Growing up, Stevie had been the only black girl in a dance class full of white girls. During lessons in the studio, she hadn’t paid much mind to it, but over the years, it became harder and harder to ignore. The class she had been in had decided to perform a routine from one of the _ballet blancs_ – so named for the presence of spirits, or sylphs, or swans, which required the dancers to be dressed all in white. Her instructor had told her that she needed to powder her arms and face, to blend in with the spectral group. She remembered her mother being furious when she told her, but she was too young at the time to fully understand why. A few years later, another class at the studio performed La Bayadère – with all of the white ballerinas in blackface, in an attempt to portray the Indian setting of the ballet. She had tried to voice her concerns with her teacher, but was dismissed, as she claimed that they were simply following tradition. Stevie had refused to attend that performance. Only a year later, that same teacher had taken her aside, telling Stevie that she would either have to make some changes to her diet and workout, or stop taking classes, as her body type was “unsuited” for ballet. From then on, she only danced for herself.

By now, she had made her way back over to the stereo, and she switched out the music to [another piece](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z2ISRMSIyX8) as she made her way to the center of the studio. Over the next hour, she leapt her way through her _pas de chats_ and _pas de chevals_ , _brisses_ and _cabrioles_. She twirled through her _pirouettes_ and flew through the air in her _jet_ _é_ _s_. As she stepped up on her left foot _en pointe_ , her right leg extended and bent behind her, her arms extended in fifth position above her head, and her back arched backwards in an _attitude_ , she felt the last of the tension from the hunt slip from her shoulders. She held the pose for as long as she could, feeling just as powerful as she did with a gun in her hand. She slowly lowered herself from the _attitude_ , bringer her feet back to third position and her arms to preparatory. She gave another long, slow exhale, before dropping her form entirely. She walked back over to the stereo and turned off the music, then walked back over to her duffle. She sat and stretched her legs out again, humming to herself.

There would be more monsters, and more hunts – and more human bigotry and ignorance. For now, though, she had her own studio sanctuary.

**Author's Note:**

> I initially intended this fic to be a celebration of ballet, and nothing else. I chose to use Stevie as my vessel for this, both because I adore her, and also because I had wanted to write something with her for Femslash February, but couldn't think of who to ship her with.
> 
> However, I was already aware that ballet tends to have an anti-blackness bend, and I wanted to look into that as a possible avenue to address in this fic. Everything mentioned here are true stories from within the last five years or so - if you want to read up on it yourself, look up "Brown Ballet Slippers" (late 2018/early 2019), "Blackface in Ballet" (December of 2019!), and "Ballet Slippers Eric Underwood" (2016). I believe Misty Copeland was the dancer with the anecdote about wearing powder for the ballet blanc, but I don't remember for sure.
> 
> Also, I'm very, very white - if anything i said or implied in this fic is offensive or insensitive in any way, _please_ let me know so that I can fix it, and so that I can do better in the future.


End file.
